Raiding with Morgan. Dunn Byron Archibald
brusquely answered Calhoun, yet he felt in his heart he was wronging his cousin by his action.
Dinner was now announced by Aunt Chloe, and it did her honest old heart good to see the way that Calhoun ate.
“I jes’ believe dat air chile hab had nuthin’ to eat fo’ a week,” she declared.
“I reckon I shall have to go now,” said Calhoun, rising reluctantly from the table. “I have already made too long a visit for a country boy with eggs to sell. I declare, Aunt Chloe, I do believe I should kill myself eating if I stayed any longer.”
“No danger of dat, chile,” replied Aunt Chloe, grinning.
The words of parting were few. “Do be careful, my son,” said Judge Pennington, his voice trembling with emotion. “God only knows whether I shall ever see you again or not.”
As Calhoun started to leave, a pair of sharp eyes was watching him. Those eyes belonged to a pretty girl named Jennie Freeman. The Freemans were Judge Pennington’s nearest neighbors, but Mr. Freeman was as strong a Union man as the Judge was a Secessionist. Once the best of friends, a coldness had sprung up between them since the opening of the war.
Jennie was two years older than Calhoun, but they had been playmates from babyhood, and were great friends. Jennie called him her knight-errant. More than once he had carried a pair of black eyes in fighting her battles when some of the larger boys had teased her.
Jennie had seen the supposed country boy enter the kitchen of Judge Pennington, and there was something in his walk and manner which attracted her attention. “If that isn’t Cal Pennington I am a sinner!” she exclaimed to herself.
She was on the watch for him, and when he remained so long she became more than ever convinced that her suspicions were correct. At length the boy came out with his basket on his arm.
“Hi, there, boy! come here,” she called. “What have you to sell?”
Calhoun paid no attention to her call, but hurried on the faster.
“I tell you, boy, you had better come here if you know when you are well off!” she called, in a threatening voice, “Oh, I know you!”
Calhoun saw that he was discovered, and that his best way was to try to make peace with her. “What do yer want?” he growled, as he walked toward her. “I hev nuthin’ to sell; all sold out.”
“Well, I never!” said the girl as Calhoun came up. “Do you think I don’t know you, Cal Pennington? A pretty figure you cut in those old clothes, and with that basket. What in the world are you doing here?”
“Hush, Jennie, not so loud. If discovered, I might be hanged,” said Calhoun, in a low voice.
“Yankees don’t hang traitors; they ought to,” replied the girl, with a toss of her head.
“But don’t you see I am in disguise? I might be taken as a spy.”
“What are you but one? I ought to inform on you at once.”
“Jennie, you wouldn’t do that. I am only here to see father and mother. I had to come in disguise, or I might be taken prisoner by the Yankees.”
“And you are not here to spy? You know there are many rumors afloat?” asked the girl.
“Just here to visit father and mother. Can you blame me, Jennie?” As Calhoun said this his heart smote him, for while it was true he was in Danville for the purpose of visiting his parents, his mission to Kentucky was for an entirely different object.
“Now, Jennie, you won’t tell on me, will you?” he continued, in a coaxing tone.
“No, if you behave yourself; but don’t let me hear of any of your capers,” answered the girl.
“You won’t, Jennie. Good-bye. I may be able to do you a good turn one of these days.”
Jennie stood looking after him until he disappeared, then shaking her head, she went into the house, saying: “I couldn’t inform on him, if he is a Rebel.”
The next few days were busy ones for Calhoun. He visited Nicholasville, Lexington, Harrodsburg; had interviews with a large number of prominent Secessionists; found out, as near as possible, the number of Federal troops garrisoning the different towns; in fact, gathered information of the utmost value to Morgan if he should ever raid Kentucky.
But all these things could not be done without rumors reaching the Federal authorities. It was known that the Southern element was extremely active; that recruiting for the Confederate army was going on; and at last, the name of Calhoun Pennington was mentioned. Some one who knew him well declared that he had seen him, and it was common report he was back recruiting for Morgan’s command. The Federal commander at Danville was ordered to keep a close watch on the house of Judge Pennington to see if it was not visited by his son.
It was on the evening of May 2d, and Calhoun was in Lexington when he was startled by hearing the news-boys crying, “Pulaski, Tennessee, captured by John Morgan!” “He is headed north, closely pursued by the Federal forces!”
Then Morgan had commenced his raid. There was no time to be lost. That night, the next day, and the next night horsemen could be seen galloping furiously along unfrequented roads, throughout central Kentucky. The word was, “Meet at the rendezvous near Harrodsburg.” Three days afterwards, two hundred of the best, the bravest, and the noblest youths of Kentucky were ready to march to join Morgan. Each one of them had provided his own outfit. They asked no pay to fight for their beloved South.
Before going, Calhoun determined to pay his father one more visit, although he knew it was dangerous to do so. Concealing his horse in a thicket outside the limits of the city, he waited until dark, then stole across fields, and through alleys home.
No sooner did the Judge see him than he cried, “Calhoun! Calhoun! what have you done! Do you know they are on the watch for you?”
“I had to see you once more before I went,” answered Calhoun. “I was careful, and I do not think any one saw me come. I have some things of importance to tell you.”
Father and son talked together for some five minutes in low, confidential tones, when they were interrupted by Jennie Freeman bursting unannounced into the room and crying, “Run, Cal, run! the soldiers are coming! They are most here!” And before either could say a word, she was out again like a flash.
“Who would have thought it, of that Abolitionist Freeman’s daughter,” gasped the Judge. “Fly, my boy, fly! and may God protect you.”
Calhoun knew his danger. Grasping his trusty revolver, he cried, “Good-bye, all,” and ran through the house to pass out by the back way. Just as he reached the door, it was opened, and he fairly rushed into the arms of a soldier who was entering. So surprised were both that they could only stare at each other for a brief second; but Calhoun recovered himself first, and dealt the soldier a terrific blow over the head with the butt of his revolver. The soldier sank down with a moan, and Calhoun sprang out over his prostrate body, only to meet and overturn another soldier who was just ascending the steps. The force of the collision threw him headlong, but he was up again in a twinkling, and disappeared in the darkness, followed by a few ineffectual shots by the baffled Federals.
Judge Pennington heard the firing and groaned, “My son, oh, my son!”
The firing had alarmed the neighborhood, and there were many pale faces, for the people knew not what it meant.
A short time afterwards a Federal officer arrested Judge Pennington, and he was dragged off to jail. But he did not think of himself. “My son,” he asked, “was he captured? was he hurt?”
“I think the devil protected his own,” roughly replied the officer, “but we will attend to you for harboring Rebels.”
Judge Pennington lay in jail among criminals, not only that night, but for nearly a week. There was talk of sending him to a Northern prison as a dangerous man. But Fred Shackelford heard of his arrest and his probable fate, and came in and had a stormy interview with the Federal commander. He showed that Judge Pennington had committed no overt act; that